


live in slow motion

by retts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Day 1 : Free Will VS Fate, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith is emo, M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:19:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: One day, random shit from his soulmate starts appearing out of nowhere.The first one is one of those OBEY snapbacks that Keith loathes with a passion, nestled in between his Physics textbook and an extra large bag of Combos in his backpack. At first, Keith is unsure if the gift from his soulmate is the snapback or the Combos, but he figures that Shiro isn’t really the snapback wearing type and so wouldn’t have slipped it in his bag (or is he? Keith will have to investigate that one later). He fingers the hard bill of the cap just as the skin of his wrist underneath the leather cuff tingles. Definitely the cap, then.





	live in slow motion

**Author's Note:**

> yeaaahhhh is this my intro to klance fic? i tried resisting alright. just. _klance_ , man, klance. 
> 
> my day 1 entry for klanceweek2k17!

 

 

One day, random shit from his soulmate starts appearing out of nowhere.

The first one is one of those OBEY snapbacks that Keith loathes with a passion, nestled in between his Physics textbook and an extra large bag of Combos in his backpack. At first, Keith is unsure if the gift from his soulmate is the snapback or the Combos, but he figures that Shiro isn’t really the snapback wearing type and so wouldn’t have slipped it in his bag (or is he? Keith will have to investigate that one later). He fingers the hard bill of the cap just as the skin of his wrist underneath the leather cuff tingles. Definitely the cap, then. 

Curiosity sets in and Keith nearly takes the bracelet off. He wraps a hand tightly over it instead. His nose scrunches as he glares at the cap, then at the cuff. No fucking way is he going to break his vow and look at his mark. He thinks of his eight year old self, trying to block the sounds of his parents fighting downstairs: his father yelling, then pleading, and his mother callously throwing someone else’s name at him. Huffing, Keith grabs the snapback and thrusts it over to the startled stranger next to him before running out into the rain. 

A fucking hat won’t keep him dry, anyway. 

 

 

The second one is a pair of sunglasses. They’re bright pink and heart-shaped. ‘Oh my God,’ Keith mutters as he stares at the pair sitting innocently on his bedside table, next to his collection of tiny cacti, a free coffee coupon, and his phone charger. It’s so out of place that it’s almost funny. Almost. 

Keith rubs at his eyes and looks again. Nope, still there. This is really happening. Keith had thought it was just a fluke; the universe sneezing once and that was it. He’s not in the mood for this. He’ll never be in the mood for this. Keith reaches for the sunglasses, plastic creaking under his tight grip, and drops it into the depths of the drawer. He slams it shut with a satisfied huff. ‘Stop fucking tingling,’ Keith tells his soulmark under the leather and tugs at the strap of the cuff to tighten it even more. ‘I don’t need this shit.' 

 

 

The third one is a flower crown, of all fucking things. Keith looks around him, spots Pidge across the room, and yanks his backpack by the strap as he stomps over to her and shouts, 'What the actual fuck?' 

Pidge sighs and glances up at him. 'Can I help you?' 

'Yeah,’ says Keith, and pulls down the front of his bag so Pidge can peer inside. 'I mean, come on, right? Fuck!' 

Pidge’s eyes flicker briefly to the red and purple petals before resuming their deadpan look. 'Keith, I know you’re a naturally angry cinnamon roll, but there’s literally nothing offensive about a flower crown. Unless you’re one of _those_ asshole guys.' 

'No!’ Keith blows out an enraged breath and flops down on the seat next to Pidge, glaring at Even when he makes a sound of protest. 'Get lost for a bit, we’re talking.' 

'Wow, no wonder you’re so popular,’ says Pidge dryly. She turns a page in her binder. 

'It’s just, why is this happening?’ asks Keith, frustration at the edges of his voice. 

Pidge sighs once more, glances at Keith with another sarcastic look, and then softens a little bit. Keith scowls. His face has always spoken more than his tongue. He can’t help it. His fingertips dig into his arms. 

'Look, Keith, you’re not dumb. The opposite of it. You know why this is happening.’ She nods towards his leather bracelet, and Keith instinctively jerks back like she’s going to reach out and tear it off. Pidge arches a brow at him. 

'I - ’ Keith resists the urge to hide his arm; he’s not thirteen anymore (panicking when he’d first felt that tickle on the inside of his wrist that meant he had a soulmate somewhere when all he’d wanted was to be unmarked, to hide away, to have no one so close that they’d be able to hurt him) and he’s _definitely_ not sixteen (fighting back tears when his kind-of brother turned out to have a different name on his skin and he didn’t _want_ Shiro, not really, but if they had each other’s marks then maybe Keith wouldn’t be tossed aside again –  )

His focus snaps back in place when Pidge gently nudges his shoulder with her own. 'I know you’re predisposed to angst over everything and you haven’t had an easy time of it, but the universe is trying to tell you something, _again_ , and you’re not listening, _again_. Maybe it’s time you lowered your guard a little, Keith.’ Pidge shrugs and pushes her glasses up her nose. 'But if you still don’t like what it’s telling you, then go ahead and tell the universe to fuck the right off.' 

The corner of Keith’s lips twitch. He touches a fake red petal and feels his mark throb in response. 

'This is still a really stupid thing to own,' mumbles Keith. ‘What’s it good for, anyway?’

Pidge reaches inside the bag and takes out the crown. She dumps it haphazardly on Keith’s head and laughs at his shocked face.

‘It makes you soft and pretty, Keithy,’ says Pidge, smirking.

‘Fuck you,’ says Keith, blushing, as he hastily takes the crown off. His soulmark tingles almost inquisitively. _Fuck you, too_ , he thinks. Hopefully, this time, the universe will take the hint.

But it doesn’t, and Keith starts to accumulate a random collection of things that he doesn’t know what do with.

Like, the denim jacket  –

and the bottle of moisturiser (SPF 30)  –

and the socks  –

and the  –

and  –

Keith pinches the bridge of his nose hard enough to hurt, then drags a hand down his face. He looks at the mess on his bed, really looks: the hat (he had to fucking chase down the upperclassman for it), the sunglasses, the flower crown, the jacket, the moisturiser, a pair of Squirtle socks (he can’t help but snort at that one again; Squirtle over Pikachu? His soulmate really is an idiot), the colouring pencils, the mismatched shoelaces, the packet of Skittles, the book of Pablo Neruda poems, and, the newest item, a string of tiny seashells. 

Keith crouches down in front of his bed and reaches a finger to trace along the lip of a pretty peach shell, then down along the nylon string until his knuckle bumps against another shell. It’s something a child would search and collect at the beach, shouting in delight with every perfect and imperfect shell found. The sand hot between his toes as he ran back to mom with palmsful of the small shells, excitedly chattering about turning them into a necklace. 

Keith blinks and the image disappears. His finger hovers over the necklace. Keith swallows, cheeks pink. That’s _never_ happened before. His soulmark feels tender under the leather. Keith gnaws worriedly on his lower lip. God, that memory feels so joyful and bright. It tugs something in Keith’s chest and he hesitates for a bit before pressing a thumb back against one of the purplish shells. He closes his eyes and lets the hot sun wash over his skin, his mouth filling with the taste of sunscreen and salt dripping from wet curls; hears the shrill scream of a boy cursing out his siblings in a rolling language Keith can’t understand (except doesn’t it mean _fuck, fuck you Pia, you coulda drowned me!_ ) and sees the blue sky spinning and spinning and spinning until suddenly something just as blue, ringed with inky lashes, blinks  –

Hissing, Keith removes his burnt thumb and sucks it into his mouth. The same sting echoes on his wrist. Keith blinks back tears as he takes in deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. His chest aches. He swallows away the echo of seawater in his mouth, closes his eyes against the bright glare of light reflecting on the sea. But he can’t shake off the happiness of the memory, the unfathomable warmth of those eyes  –

'I’m listening,’ Keith murmurs to no one. He opens his eyes. The universe gave him a soulmate a long time ago. It’s not a guarantee, and half the time the universe gets it wrong. He’s always felt forced into it, robbed of the choice of who to love, but there has to be a reason why someone is written on the vulnerable skin of his wrist, right where his pulse beats, and Keith will never know _why_ and _who_ and maybe even _how_ if he doesn’t take the chance. Keith grips the strap of the cuff. _It’s my decision_ , he tells himself. _It’s just a name until it means something._

With shaky fingers, Keith begins to unbuckle the cuff that’s been hiding his soulmark since he was thirteen. The cuff slips a little when it’s loosened, showing a paler strip of skin and the end curl of a letter. His heart trips over itself and Keith has to pause and shake the anxiety out of his fingers. Keith scowls at himself. Something that suspiciously sounds like Pidge’s critical tone whispers _just do it, like ripping off a bandage_ –

Taking a deep breath, Keith counts down from three, two, and then he yanks the cuff off. It falls from his hand, but Keith’s attention is riveted on the name written sloppily over his thrumming pulse.

L A N C E

Keith sucks in a deep breath, mouth trembling with the urge to say it out loud. He delicately traces the name with his fingers, and makes a strangled noise when he gets hit by sad, blue eyes and a simmering mix of emotions.  

‘Lance,’ he whispers to himself eventually.

Keith’s heart pounds harder.

‘Lance,’ he says again, louder. Keith knows Lance won’t hear him, wherever he is, but he still calls out his name for the third time. It feels good on his tongue, and he likes the way his mouth forms a smile when he says it.

That’s a start.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed <33333
> 
> i think i'll enjoy playing in this particular sandbox, so if you have prompts, you could herd them my way at clarespace.tumblr.com


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